


parts that might fit like this

by decinq



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Future Fic, Height Differences, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It <i>is</i> really high off the ground,” Jack lends, and Bittle smacks the side of his head, laughing.</p><p>“I’m a normal size!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	parts that might fit like this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warptimeandspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warptimeandspace/gifts).



> i have a few big thank yous, and here they are: thank you [idrilka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilka) for lending my favourite boy to me, i hope i did well by him. you know how much i love him, and how much i love you. thank you for all your help. second big thank you is to quinn, who reads and listens and suggests and encourages. i couldn't do anything without you, honey. love you. finally, enormous and bountiful thanks to the organizers of this year's 'swawesome santa! keep on keepin' on! 
> 
> the title of this fic is taken from 'over again' by one direction.
> 
> happy holidays, chocolatechipsformorale. i hope this was everything you were hoping for.♡ (insp from [this](http://chocolatechipsformorale.tumblr.com/post/127864302784/smallangrybean-shitsquiettime-i-think-its) post)

# 0.

 

At the end of Jack’s fourth season in the NHL, he holds the Stanley Cup over his head. He hands it off to Cory, who screams in Jack’s face, and Jack laughs as he wipes tears away from his eyes.

Three weeks later, he and Bittle are waiting to collect their bags at Trudeau International when Jack asks, “Would you wanna get married before we go back stateside in July?” 

Bittle’s eyes go wide, and his mouth gapes. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are wet, but if Jack didn’t know better, he’d think he was pretty collected. He looks away from Jack, and Jack knocks their shoulders together as they watch the other passengers’ bags slowly rotate past them.

“God damn it, Jack,” Bittle says. He wipes at his eyes, and then says, “You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no,” Jack says, smiling.

Bittle smiles back, rolls his eyes, and says, “It’s not,” before leaning over the carousel and grabbing Jack’s duffle bag.

 

# 5.

 

Fame doesn’t treat Jack poorly. It’s not always easy, not always fun. But more often than not, it’s only kids who come up to him in the grocery store. Every once in a while people will stop him in the street, but he’s usually happy to stop and take photos so long as he’s alone. He doesn’t get caught in public often.

He’s always been in the spotlight--since he was a baby, really--but it wasn’t ever like it is now. After his overdose, it got worse. Of course. Everyone loves a sob story. Everyone loves to see the mighty fall. He’s always understood that people like the Icarus story more for its punishment of ego than for its moral. 

Since he’s been with the Falconers, though, it’s been easy. Easier than he ever expected.

It’s not often that anyone takes photos of him without his permission. Fans, sometimes, but Jack thinks he’s mostly okay with that. There are days when he’d rather it not happen, when he hasn’t slept well or he’s feeling particularly mulish.

The first time anyone takes a photo of Bittle, it’s not even because they know he’s with Jack. It’s just because it’s ridiculous. Hilarious. He doesn’t blame them. 

He guesses that the photos circulate on Twitter before anyone is paying any real attention to them, but it doesn’t take long before someone from PR is calling Jack about it.

“There are some photos popping up online,” Trish starts, and Jack is instantly horrified as to what exactly that means before she continues. He sits up on the couch, already panicking. “They’re of Eric. They’re not uh—it’s nothing bad. Nothing that means trouble. We just thought you should know. Do you want me to text them?” 

“Uh,” Jack says. “Sure?”

There’s a laugh in her voice when she says, “If there’s anything you need us to do, give me a call back. I’ll be in the office until after 6 anyway.”

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks, Tee.”

He hangs up and waits for the picture messages to come through. Bittle is on the phone with his mom in the other room, and Jack taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa. His phone buzzes in his hand, and he swipes to open the message. 

The photos are funny. He doesn’t blame Trish for calling, is grateful she did. But they are hilarious.

They’re from this morning. Jack and Bittle had gone out for early brunch at Waterman Grille. Jack had parked on the street. It had been a nice meal. A good morning.  Bittle had agreed to drive home so Jack could drink mimosas.

The photos are of Bittle trying to get back into the truck from the street side. Jack’s truck is raised, and it’s high off the ground. Even when he gets into the truck with the sidewalk’s half-foot boost, Bittle still struggles to get into the passenger seat. In the pictures, Bittle’s legs are sticking out of the open door, like a kid learning to kick-swim. There are a few shots of Jack, open-faced and laughing, and then of Bittle jumping into the car on his second attempt.

He texts Trish a simple _haha, can’t wait to show him_.

Bittle comes into the room and says, “What’s so funny?”

Jack bites his lip to keep his laughter to a minimum, and he says, “You can’t get mad.”

Bittle’s eyes narrow as he stands in front of Jack. “What’d you do?”

Jack says, “Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Why do you look so guilty?” Bittle says. Jack raises his palms to Bittle, and then passes him the phone.

Bittle’s cheeks colour as he swipes through the photos on Jack’s phone, and Jack reaches for Bittle’s waist. Jack wraps his arms around Bittle’s middle, links his hands at his back. He tugs Bittle closer to him until Jack can press his face into Bittle’s sternum.

“They are kind of funny,” Jack mumbles into Bittle’s t-shirt.

“Fuck off, they are not.”

“They are,” Jack says.

“Ugh,” Bittle says. “I hate that stupid truck.”

“It _is_ really high off the ground,” Jack lends, and Bittle smacks the side of his head, and laughs.

“I’m a normal size!”

 

# 4.

 

It’s kind of amazing, Jack thinks, that it’s been two years since he and Shitty graduated, and that people still seem to give a shit about them. Or, well. Jack guesses that his success makes his name a bit easier to toss around campus. Still, it’s nice, he thinks. When he and Bittle go to Annie’s, Mae still remembers his drink order, even though she was just a freshman when he graduated, and he hasn’t ordered a coffee from her in two years.

The Haus is loud in a way that Jack doesn’t normally like. The new kids are all nice enough, but Jack doesn’t have much in common with them, is basically a whole decade older than them. They only want to talk about him, and he doesn’t want to talk about himself, like, ever, and so he just wants the party to be over with. Lardo and Shitty are trying to wreck Ransom and Holster at beer pong, and it really is like it was before. There’s music playing that he doesn’t recognize, but all his old friends are smiling. He’s not sure they’ve all been in the same room since he and Shitty graduated.

Bittle and Wicks are drunkenly ranting about something to each other, and when Jack tried to join them, it sounded like they were having two different conversations and they were both just drunk enough that they hadn’t noticed yet.

Jack finds Chowder sitting on the counter in the kitchen, nursing his beer in one hand and holding a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other.

They chat about the Sharks for a bit, and it’s nice. Jack never spent a lot of time with Chowder in the one year they played together, but he’s grown into himself--lost the braces and grew a beard that he only got rid of this morning, apparently. 

“Bitty hates the beard, y’know? And I thought, today’s special, lots of pictures. He’s only gonna have this day once. Thought it’d make him happy.”

“You’re a good guy, Chowder,” Jack says. 

Even when it’s been tough, with him and Bittle not seeing each other as often as they’d both like, Jack is happy to know that Bittle has friends who love him. So many people who came back to see him off, to congratulate him, to give their well-wishes. To see him graduate.

He and Jack are both very lucky.

There are only two names on the lease to Jack’s place, but their family is big anyway.

Bittle comes into the kitchen, sliding on the floor with his socks. He sees Jack and smiles.

“Hi, honey,” he says, dopey.

“Hey,” Jack says, fond despite the way Bittle smells like cheap vodka and stale beer.

Bittle starts, “So Lardo just said,” and Jack wraps his arm around Bittle’s shoulders. Bittle tucks himself into Jack’s side, and Jack lets him tell the story, hands waving. Chowder is smiling, kicking his legs out and laughing at all the appropriate pauses. “But I don’t know, I honestly don’t know if anyone on the planet is better at beer pong than Ransom and Holster,” he finishes.

Chowder laughs, “Truer words, man.” He takes a big bite of his pizza, and Bittle yawns.

“You okay?” Jack asks quietly, turning towards Bittle.

“Tired,” Bittle says softly.

“You wanna crash?” Jack asks.

Bittle shakes his head. “I just wanna spend time with everyone,” he says, soft. Jack knows he’s sad about leaving, scared. But he also knows that Bittle’s energy falls out of him all at once.

Jack lets Bittle chat with Chowder a bit longer, and Bittle says, “I’m so happy I can see your face again,” before drunkenly patting at Chowder’s cheek.

Chowder laughs, and says, “Thanks Bits. I do it all for you.”

Bittle smiles, all teeth and dimples, and says, “I knew it.”

Jack rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, babe, time for bed. Let’s pack it in.”

Bittle whines, and says, “Just because I’m done with college does not mean that I’m now eighty years old.”

Jack looks at his watch. “It’s two in the morning,” Jack says.

“Eighty years old,” Bittle says, more to Chowder than to Jack.

Chowder snorts, and then Jack meets his eye and winks at him before grabbing Bittle around the waist and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Bittle says, “Jack,” but it’s drowned out by his laughter. There are still people in the Haus, but the bulk of the partygoers have scattered, and Jack’s pretty sure that the only people left are their friends.

“Bittle,” Jack says, flat and monotone. He bites at his lip to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Get it, Bits,” Ransom hollers at them. Bittle is laughing into Jack’s back, sweet little giggles that make Jack’s heart swell and his throat tight. He’s careful with his footing on the stairs, and Bittle pinches at Jack’s sides when they get to the top of the landing.

“Watch your feet,” Jack says, suddenly quiet. He still feels like there’s a lump in his throat, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Doesn’t know why it’s even there. He sets Bittle down, and Bittle wobbles a bit.

He steps towards Jack, tucks his nose into Jack’s t-shirt over his collarbone. “‘M dizzy,” he says.

Jack rests his hands on Bittle’s back. He traces them down the soft fabric of Bittle’s shirt, sneaks his fingers up the back of it at his waist. “We have to be up early,” he says.

Bittle shakes his head. “I don’t wanna go to sleep,” he says, and he sounds petulant, like a little kid.

“I know it’s scary to leave,” Jack says. “But you’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

Bittle steps back from Jack, and Jack lets his hands fall to his sides. He tugs at Jack’s hand and steps towards his bedroom. Jack’s eyes don’t linger on the door that used to be his, just stay trained on Bittle’s fingers in his own hand.

Bittle opens his bedroom door, and leans against the doorframe. Jack settles his chin on the top of Bittle’s head and wraps his hands around his waist. Bittle covers Jack’s arms with his own.

There are boxes stacked in the middle of the room, everything on the desk is packed away, there’s nothing left in the closet. Everything has been taken down from the walls. It’s as bare as it was before Bittle moved into it. Jack says, “It’s not over.”

Bittle shrugs, but Jack is only half-wrong. He wishes he could make Bittle understand. For Jack, it hadn’t been over. Just because he gave his dibs to Chowder and packed up his shit, his life in the Haus didn’t end. But Bittle’s kind of the last of their little core. There’s a new core now. New guys who have different jokes and different ways of playing and Jack doesn’t even really know any of them. Jack says, “You gave everyone a place to come home to.” He pauses, but then adds, “You know that, right?”

Bittle’s breath shakes out of him, and Jack wants to turn the clock back by mere minutes, to when Bittle was giggling into Jack, to when he was calling Jack a senior citizen, to when he was sliding against the hardwood on his socked feet. Bittle says, “You did, too. For me.”

Jack nudges at Bittle, and he steps into his room. Bittle turns around, and his eyes are wet. In the morning, Jack and Bitty and the rest of their friends will load all of Bitty’s boxes and furniture into the bed of Jack’s truck, and they’ll drive it to Jack’s condo. They’ll all order pizza, and they’ll all end up camped out in Jack’s guest room or on the floor by the couch. It’ll be a busy day, hard work that will probably leave Jack’s muscles aching with it, but Bittle’s mixer will have a spot on the counter in the kitchen, and his clothes will hang in the walk-in closet. His toiletries in the cabinet over the bathroom sink.

“Tomorrow,” Jack says. “We get to try it all again.”

Bittle smiles up at Jack, and he nods. He says, “Yeah, okay,” and Jack leans forward and wraps his hands around Bittle again. He smiles at him before lifting him up again, and Bittle wraps his legs around Jack’s waist. His laughter is quiet, and he smiles into Jack’s lips before he kisses him.

 

# 3.

 

Jack walks in the front door, and he can hear Bittle laughing in the kitchen. He says, “Babe, I’m back.”

“We’re in here,” Bittle calls.

When Jack makes his way into the kitchen, he rolls his eyes. Cory is covered in flour, and he’s got a puppy-dog smile on his face, all fondness and easy happiness, and Bittle is pretending to be annoyed about the mess. Jack says, “Smithy, stop flirting with my boyfriend.”

“I can’t help it!” Cory says, turning to wave a hand at Jack.

“I am much more likeable than you, honey,” Bittle says, smirking.

Jack rolls his eyes again. Cory looks pleased with himself, and he says, “We’re making blueberry tarts.”

“You sound like a kid,” Jack says, just to be a dick.

“I won’t apologize for being excited about the simple pleasures in life, Zimmermann.”

Jack opens the fridge and fishes out a bottle of gatorade, and Bittle says, “Honey, when you’re able, can you get the muffin tray down from the cupboard?”

Jack doesn’t answer, as he’s shutting the fridge, and Bittle says, “Jack?”

“Hmm? Oh, me?” He leans against the fridge and smirks. “I thought you were talking to Cory.”

“Oh my God,” Bittle laughs. “It’s right above you. You’re ridiculous.”

“You _are_ ridiculous,” Cory says. “Eric only calls me sweetheart. He’d never call me honey. That’s you.”

“Stop pretending like we want to hang out with you,” Jack says, smiling.

“You love hanging out with me,” Cory says.

“I love him,” Jack says, pointing to Bittle. “We’re just polite and know it’d be bad for the team if we called the cops to get you to actually leave.”

Cory frowns, and a smile breaks across Jack’s face, and Bittle rolls his eyes. “Are you boys done? Jack, the muffin tray, please?”

Jack opens the cupboard above the fridge and reaches for the muffin tray. He makes to hand it to Bittle and then holds it above his head. Bittle steps into Jack’s space and tries to grab for Jack’s hands. He says, “Sweet mother of--”

Jack smiles and softly says, “Missed you.”

Bittle’s smile softens and says, “You too, honey.”

Jack lowers his hand as he presses his lips to Bittle’s chastly. “Enjoy your play-date,” he says, handing Bittle the baking tray. Bittle smiles and pats Jack’s arm fondly.

Cory says, “It’s not a playdate, oh my God.”

“Sorry, Core,” Jack says. “I meant to say, ‘enjoy your bi-weekly buddy baking.’”

“You’re a condescending dick,” Cory says, laughing. “You’re just jealous.”

Jack laughs and Bittle holds his eye and smiles before he turns back to the mixer on the counter.

# 2.

 

Jack comes home exhausted. He leaves his bag at the door and tosses his keys on the counter and pulls his feet out of his shoes without untying them. He pulls off his suit jacket and throws it onto the back of one of the stools at the counter and slowly makes his way across the condo. The lights are all out, but it’s late, the middle of the night. There’s no reason they’d be on.

When he makes it to their bedroom, the lights are off in there too. The room is dark in the way it always is; the lights of the city never leave the room totally black, even with the curtains drawn. He can hear cars out on the street, the sounds of the city still settling down, or just waking up. Jack unzips his slacks and lets them slide to the floor, unbuttons his shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the laundry basket.

Bittle is tucked up on his side of the bed, knees drawn up. He’s so small, and Jack smiles down at him, bites his lip at how sweet he looks in their massive bed. Jack gets his socks off before he lifts the comforter and carefully lowers himself into bed.

Bittle stirs, rolls over and blinks at Jack. “Sorry,” Jack whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Bittle slurs. He rubs at his eyes with his fists and then leans up on his elbow. “How’re you feeling? That hit looked bad.”

Jack shifts, says, “Bruising. It’s okay.”

Bittle lifts the comforter to the side to reveal Jack’s bruised side. He runs his fingers softly over the skin, a tickle more than a touch, and Jack has to force himself not to flinch. “Skin’s real warm,” Bittle says. “Does it hurt?”

Jack hesitates, then nods. “A bit.”

Bittle rests his hand on Jack’s chest rather than his swollen ribs, and he says, “I missed you,” before settling back against the pillows. Jack tries to settle beside him, but it hurts to lay on his side, and he rolls onto his back and sighs.

“I missed you too.”

“Wanna switch sides?” Bittle asks. Jack knows he likes the right side of the bed for some complicated reason that Jack doesn’t really understand but accepts anyway. “Might help. I forgot what you look like, after two weeks. Gotta spend at least two minutes looking at your face.”

Jack chuckles, and says, “You’re nuts.”

“And you’re nuts about me. Feel like that says more about you than it says about me.”

Jack laughs again, and he says, “Okay, trade sides with me.”

Bittle leans forward and kisses Jack on the tip of his nose before sitting up and leaning over him. Jack smiles up at him with a face that he’s sure is dopey with affection, and shuffles over to the right side of the bed.

Jack rolls onto his side, and Bittle smiles at him. “That’s better,” he says, raising his hand to Jack’s cheek.

Jack hums, low in his throat, and leans over to kiss Bittle gently. Bittle cards his hands through the hair at Jack’s temples before moving his hands to Jack’s back. Jack kisses at Bittle’s nose, his cheek, his forehead. When Bittle pushes at Jack’s back, he lets his weight rest against Bittle more solidly. He shuffles a bit, but he fits his legs over Bittle’s waist, rests his cheek against Bittle’s chest. Bittle traces Jack’s neck with his fingers, and Jack throws his arm across Bittle’s front. He’s half on top of him, half on his side.

“Tell me if I’m too heavy,”Jack mumbles after a few minutes.

Bittle says, “It’s fine,” even though Jack’s sure his arm is bound to fall asleep where it’s pinned under Jack. “You’re all good.”

Jack’s eyelids start to droop, and he says, “Love you.”

Jack’s mostly asleep, and he’s sure Bittle is too, but he hears Bittle say, “You too,” before can succumbs to sleep.

# 1.

Jack is driving and Bittle is losing his shit in the passenger seat.

“I could fucking kill him,” Bittle says. Jack tries to hide his smile.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“He’s a piece of shit!”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Jack says, slow. He signals and shoulder checks before changing lanes.

“He fucking hit you while you were already down. He’s such a trashy asshole.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, figures Bittle just wants to blow off steam. Bittle says, “Why am I having an argument with myself?”

Jack pulls into their parking stall and unclicks his seatbelt. He says, “Everyone agrees that Chara is a huge asshole. I don’t know who you’re arguing with. My back has a bruise to prove it. I’m not saying otherwise.”

Bittle gets out the car and slams the door harder than necessary. Jack winces. He pops the trunk and shoulders his bag. “I just--” Bittle’s shoulders slump, and Jack feels guilty. “Why aren’t you angrier? Why didn’t you fight back?”

Jack blinks at Bittle. “I wouldn’t win,” Jack says. “He’d beat the shit out of me.” Jack’s never going to be his father. He doesn’t think that Bittle means it that way, is pretty sure that Bittle just wishes Jack would stick up for himself more. Jack hits the remote to lock the car and they make their way inside.

“I--” Bittle starts, stops. “I hate not being able to have your back. Not really. I hate sitting there and not being able to do anything, even if it’s just turning to Holster and shoving him in any asshole’s direction.”

“But you do have my back,” Jack says, dropping his bag at the door. “You’ve got all this anger in your tiny little body, and you just spent fifteen minutes yelling about the Bruins.” Jack shrugs and says, “Plus, like. I don’t know. You’re here.”

“Being angry on your behalf doesn’t feel the same as really being in your corner, though, y’know?”

Jack opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of blue gatorade. He uncaps it and takes a long sip before saying, “I have a C on my jersey. I know you want me to drop my gloves and stand up for myself, but I gotta lead by example.”

“Chara’s their captain,” Bittle says, and Jack thinks he wants to argue for argument’s sake.

“He’s not the kind of captain I wanna be,” Jack says. He takes another sip of his gatorade, and when Bittle puts his hand out, Jack hands it to him. Bittle takes a sip, then smiles.

“Are you going for a Lady Byng?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Not specifically.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Although my dad certainly never won one of those.”

Bittle smiles, and says, “Maybe Chara just wants to mess you up for being the most handsome NHLer.”

Jack laughs. “I’m no Oduya, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Bittle hands back the gatorade and says, “I’m gonna shower.”

Jack smiles and says, “I’ll join you.”

 

# 0.

“That bag is bigger than you are, son,” Jack’s dad says, and Bittle rolls his eyes.

Jack smiles and steps forward to hug his dad. “Thanks for picking us up,” he says.

His dad smiles, and Bittle loads their luggage into the back of the car. “Anytime, kiddo,” his dad says.

# +1.

Jack says, “I do,” and Bittle bites his lip as tears spring to his eyes.

The officiant pronounces them husbands, and tells them to kiss, and Jack bends at the knees slightly. Bittle stands up on his tiptoes, and he smiles into Jack’s lips, and when Jack kisses him, he’s never felt like he’s fit anywhere more. He kisses Bittle softly, and when he pulls back, Bittle is laughing. Jack wipes the back of his hand across his eyes, and Shitty is whooping from his spot at Jack’s side.

Bittle says, “Holy,” quietly, and Jack gets it. Can’t believe it either.

Jack smiles down at him, and kisses him again, quick and closed lipped, and he says, “Yeah.”

**  
**


End file.
